


Flame Red Cherry

by mswyrr



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Bottom Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Dom Chloe Decker, F/M, Femdom, Gentle femdom, Light Dom/sub, it's mostly just Chloe topping with gorgeous flashes of her dommy side, lucifer is simultaneously billions of years old and so achingly brand new to love, the domming is really gentle btw, this is very much 'bb's first time domming' for her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mswyrr/pseuds/mswyrr
Summary: Wherein Lucifer is the oldest, most well sexed emotional virgin in all creation and Chloe is so here for it.





	Flame Red Cherry

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to wollfgang, notyourfuckingalatia, and Miah for the beta work!

* * *

 

It was always just a little too hot in Lucifer’s penthouse. Probably a devil thing. Chloe was pleased when the thought came to her, in the middle of an open-mouthed kiss, and it didn’t bother her at all. It was just one of those things. Lovers with different preferences for the thermostat. No biggie.

But they’d been making out on his couch like teenagers for an hour now and it was really too much. She leaned back from him and stretched, yawning. She pulled her shirt off over her head, tossing it aside on the couch.

Better.

Lucifer’s eyes went to her black lace bra for one long, hot, riveted moment and then he blinked, looking up at her in concern. “Long day?” he asked, brushing her hair back from her bare shoulder.

“It’s just warm in here,” she said, around another yawn, “makes me sleepy.” He’d dimmed the lights too, which made everything seem rich and dreamlike.

“I can put the air on for you.” He braced her with a hand on her back and reached for the silver remote that controlled everything in his apartment.

Chloe stopped his hand mid-reach, gave it a casual kiss. “I have a better idea,” she said, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. Her best sultry gaze. She stood up from his lap in one fluid motion and, keeping eye contact, slowly unzipped her pants. Made a production of working them off her hips and onto the floor. She stepped out of them and cocked her hip in one of those poses she learned from her _Hot Tub High School_ days.

His eyes went to her matching black lace thong and stayed several beats longer than they had on her bra, his lips parting.

Chloe pushed down the pleased smirk that wanted to curl at her lips. Yeah, she still had it.

He pulled his eyes back up to hers, smiled. “Beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes alight with something so much more than mere lust.

The warm thrill of vanity shifted, settled in the middle of her chest as a tender, aching throb. It wasn’t just that she still had it—though she did!—but he was looking at her with love.

It was sweet. It was wonderful.

She really did want the lust back, though.

He seemed to have gotten it into his head that he had to go slow with her. _Really slow_. It was charming at first. He was learning to date from scratch, just for her. And he wanted to make it perfect.

But she didn’t go through months of agony processing his, er, status as a fallen angel and the former Lord of Hell—reevaluating her whole worldview until she felt like her mind was going to snap—just to sit around stewing in sexual frustration while one of the most notorious good lays in L.A. played hard to get.

Sure, she’d been grateful at first. His sexual tastes were intimidating, to say the least. What if he got bored of her? Wanted a bunch of things she wasn’t into? What if he needed some kind of… open arrangement? She had prepared her heart to deal with that. Be an adult about it. It would sting, but they could talk it out.

It was nothing compared to what they’d been through to be together.

So what if he slept with some other people? She knew he could do it with all the unromantic enthusiasm of Joe Schmoe meeting up with friends to play racquetball. It was just a fun activity for him. Something creative, athletic. She could adjust. It would be fine.  

She told herself that and worried and worried. But then _four_ weeks went by and he still hadn’t made a move to do more than kiss her until her head swam.

When he just continued to gaze at her in quiet, loving awe, Chloe sighed, relaxed her “come hither” pose and instead went to sit next to him on the couch.

She really did appreciate his love and efforts to adjust to her needs, or what he thought she needed. She did. But she was spending a fortune in vibrator batteries and it was enough at this point.  

He reacted to her change in mood, turning so his body was facing hers, gently taking her hand. “What’s wrong, darling?” He was always so concerned about her well-being. He put her first like it was natural as breathing.

She patted his hand. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want you to know,” she gave his hand a squeeze, looked deeply into his warm brown eyes, “that I’m ready.”

His brow furrowed. “Ready for what?”

Chloe stared at him a long moment. Then she pointedly gestured with her hand to encompass the uncomfortable lingerie she was displaying. “You know,” she said, “ _ready_.”

It was a big flashing neon sign of a hint. Would he take it?

He went still. “Oh,” he said. He gave her a charming smile that just made the sudden fear in his eyes stand out more. “Of course.” He stroked his hand up her arm in a practiced move, traced his thumb lightly over the sensitive skin of her forearm. His smile widened, practiced and sexy. She shivered in reaction, but his eyes… he looked so scared and uncertain.

Chloe’s heart broke. Had she done that? Made him absolutely terrified of making one wrong step?

She had. With the months of rejection and horror and… it wasn’t her fault. She wouldn’t accept that; she could be blasé about it now, but she _had_ come near to losing her mind over everything for a while. It wasn’t her fault. She’d done her absolute best. She’d never wanted to hurt him, even as she did.

Over and over again.

For months.

Chloe sighed. It wasn’t her fault, but it was still her responsibility.

She reached up to cup his face. “It’s okay, Lucifer. You’re not going to shock me, you know? I know you’d never do anything I don’t like.” She looked into his eyes and tried to let him see how much she meant what she was saying. “And even if you want something I’m not used to, we can talk about it. Okay?” She leaned forward, kissed his forehead and remembered a line from all the religious crap she’d read obsessively after she saw his other face: _Be not afraid_.  

That was supposed to be his line, as the angel here. But maybe the books had got that part wrong too.

“I know,” she said, stroking her hands through his tousled hair soothingly, “that you’re being a gentleman with me. And I think it’s, just,” she settled her hands at the nape of his neck, stroking the baby soft fine hairs there, “ _so sweet_. Really. But you don’t have to be so careful. I’m ready.”

Lucifer leaned back against the couch, bringing her against his chest. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “But it’s not that.” His fingers traced a soft line down her back, making her skin tingle.

His body was warmer than a human’s too, cozy like her own personal furnace. That could be useful anywhere else but balmy L.A. Maybe she could get him to go up to the mountains with her, have him cuddle her while looking out at the snowy trees.

Chloe rested her head over his heart, comforted by his chest rising and falling with his breath. The lights were dim and it was so quiet. The perfect setting to share secrets. “You can talk to me,” she said, running her hand over his chest, “you can tell me anything. You know that, right?” She turned her face toward the soft fabric of his purple dress shirt, shame hot across her cheeks. “I won’t run away again.”

She’d apologized for that, before they started dating. When he accepted her apology, he said that he never wanted her to say she was sorry for it again. It was in the past now and they’d both survived it. They couldn’t be happy if she kept beating herself up over it.

So she didn’t say she was sorry. But she did feel it.

“Oh, darling, it’s nothing like that. Nothing – frightful. Just,” his chest moved under her, taking in a deep breath and slowly sighing, “utterly humiliating, that’s all.” His tone had taken on that wry humor he used to distance himself from the trials of life. “Far better blackmail material than that time someone hacked my phone for nudes.” He snorted. “As if I wouldn’t be pleased to have everyone to get an eyeful of,” he waved a hand over his impeccable bod, “this.”

Chloe laughed. “Okay, well. I think we’ve established that I have no interest in blackmailing you.” If she wanted to, she had far better material than whatever this was. “So,” she patted his chest, “out with it already.”

“It’s all Linda’s fault,” he started. “She _insisted_ that we talk about this dating business. Get out my feelings about the whole thing. The usual. And somewhere along the way it occurred to me that—” he paused, licked his lips, “I’ve never,” he moved his arm, made air quotes, “’made love’ before.” The rumble of his voice was low and soft as he confessed the next part: “Not with someone I loved.”

Chloe was stunned wordless. That was a side of things she’d not even considered.

At her silence, Lucifer tensed and then tried to make it a joke, as usual. “Yes, indeed, Detective,” he continued smoothly, his voice and manner shifting to grandiose self-mockery, staving off ridicule by doing it better himself first. “When we finally do the deed, you'll be popping the devil's own flame red cherry. Going where no one has gone before. Plucking the tender flower of my innocence… I’ve tried the old mind over matter routine. Told myself it’s absurd a hundred times. But when I think about it – it’s still dreamy and full of import now, this last,” he made air-quotes again, “‘first.’ I’m probably going to get emotional and make a right mess of things.” He gave her shoulders a hearty squeeze. “Lucky you, eh?” The words dripped with self-contempt.

That was enough of that.

Chloe moved on top of him, hands on either side, gave him a firm look. ”I _am_ lucky.” She felt tears prickle at her eyes and didn’t fight them. She kissed his lips, slow and firm, “I’m so lucky to have you,” she said, heart in her throat. She shook her head. “Why would you think I’d be disappointed that it means so much to you? That’s what – that’s what we’re _doing_ , Lucifer. We’re in love. It’s supposed to be emotional. Do you really think it’s not for me too?”

He sat up, gingerly moving her off to the couch beside him. “No, no – it’s not that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I can’t draw out your desires, now can I? Which means I’ll already be working blind! For the first time in my long life. And now I won’t even have the proper objectivity to read you because of all these—” he waved a hand, “useless, dewy feelings.”

Chloe poked him in the arm. “I don’t want an expert, heartless fuck. If I wanted that, I would have had sex with you the first thousand times you came on to me. I _want_ your dewy, useless feelings.” She stood, paced in front of the couch. “That’s what I’m here for!”

“Oh,” he said. Then frowned. “But what if it’s…” his face contorted as if this was the worst conceivable thing, “not good enough for you? What if ‘making love,’” he said, again with the air-quotes, “is the one sex thing I’m not good at?”

Her lip twitched. His sincerity, his epic egotism, his sweetness… She’d rather talk about anything with him than be with anyone else in the whole world. The only person who owned more of her heart was Trixie, and Trixie was her own flesh and blood.

“We have the rest of my life to get it right,” she said.

He was looking up at her again like she, rather than he, had hung the stars. It made her breath catch.

“Look,” she said, “why don’t I just show you how it’s done?”

“Chloe! You’d top for me?” His smile was genuine this time, lighting up his eyes. “That’s very kind of you. Given your choice of romantic partners,” he started, and then froze for a second, clearly worried he’d brought up a touchy subject. “I just mean I’d—er… rather begun to suspect your preferences lay strictly in the other direction.” He shrugged. “Which is delightful too! But a lot more pressure on yours truly.”

“Top?” she asked, puzzled. She knew vaguely that it meant something. Something to do with gay sex? She wasn’t sure how it applied here.

“Well, not literally on top necessarily. Just generally,” he made a steering gesture, “driving the train, as it were. Organizing the festivities.” He pointed at her, “You be the captain,” he said and then pointed at himself, “and I’ll be your loyal first mate.”

Chloe thought she got it. He wanted her to just take charge of things, instead of stripping down and trying to lure _him_ into doing it. Well… that sounded good, actually, now that she thought about it.

Bossing him around had always been one of her secret pleasures in their work together.

“Okay,” she said, looking down at him. He was beautifully disheveled on the couch, his curls loosened by her touch, his lips parted and inviting, his eyes warm. She felt all the energy she’d been pouring out shift, from luring him in to pouncing. It was a greedy, eager feeling that burned low in her belly. She crossed back to the couch in two steps and settled over him, spreading her legs against the thin material of his trousers.

His lips curled in appreciation, eyes tracking over her. She pushed him back, hand at the middle of his chest, and kissed him deeply. This time when she cupped his face it was to direct him as she licked and nipped at his lips. He opened for her, sighing luxuriantly.

What she reached for, he gave, supporting her, following her moves like a dance.

She unbuttoned his shirt, slipped a hand inside to feel up the smooth, warm skin beneath, and his hands drifted up to stroke over her lower back and ass.

Giddiness bubbled up in her chest.

Captain and loyal first mate, she thought, smiling into his lips. This whole time she’d been agonizing over how to get him to let loose and all she needed to do was take the wheel herself!

Chloe wriggled in his lap, delighting to the feel of him hardening beneath her, and reached to pull his purple dress shirt all the way off. Part of their long talks, after the all the misunderstanding and hurt was over, included a little angel sex ed. Apparently supernatural beings didn’t get STDs and couldn’t—after “that unfortunate Nephilim business”— get humans pregnant either. So that was covered.

He grinned up at her, delighted. “You have a real talent for this, dear! Er,” he pursed his lips, “I don’t suppose you could give me a little of the theory as we go along? For future reference.”

Theory? She had no idea what he was talking about.

Chloe rested her head against his shoulder and laughed. This was absurd. But it felt so right too; it felt like _them_. Detective Decker and her sweet, curious oddball of a partner. She gave his collarbone a soft kiss. “What kind of theory did you have in mind?”

He shrugged one shoulder, so lean and elegant, and she gave it a kiss too. Because _she_ was playing captain and she got to do that.

“What are you thinking? Feeling?”

That stopped her short. “If I tell you,” she said, “this is going to get a lot more serious. Do you want that?”

His gaze was solemn. “I think I’d like that.”

Well, it was his last ‘first’, wasn’t it? She thought about her own fumble with a fellow teen actor in a trailer, so many years ago, and winced internally.

She could make this special for Lucifer. Romantic.

“Hm,” she said, trying to readjust her approach. She sat up on her heels and he followed, kissing her throat.

“I hope that’s all right?” He looked nervous.

“It is,” she said. “Just give me a sec to think.” She pondered over the whole thing between them, how it lifted her up and tore her apart so many times. What it meant to finally get to have the joy at the end of all that pain. Then she took his hand and pressed it to her heart, just below her breast. “Loving you puts this ache here,” she said, and moved his hand to her lower belly. It felt so big and warm, with his elegant, talented pianists’ fingers, that she felt her inner muscles tighten, yearning. “And here. Like a part of me is missing. All the time.”

His eyes widened. “I know that feeling,” he said, quietly. “It hurts. But it’s – sweet, too, isn’t it?”

To be part of someone else and not just yourself. To feel known, seen, understood. Yeah. It was sweet. It hurt, she thought, because it made something alive that was numb the rest of the time.

Chloe nodded. “Making love is just, like… making you part of me, so for a little while I don’t feel like you’re missing anymore. It’s not an act—it can be anything, it doesn’t matter—it’s a feeling.”

He looked at her like she was giving him the secret of life. “Show me,” he said, “please.”

She stood, taking his hand and drawing him toward the bedroom. The giddiness shifted as she padded barefoot across the floor, leading him. A hint of nerves crept in. “I have to warn you,” she said, glancing back at him, “I’m going to start off with a classic – I’m not big on special tricks.” She tried to bring out the bright side: “Though I’m happy to learn.”

They were just inside his room now, at the side of his bed. Chloe looked down at their linked hands, her shoulders tensing. How many talented lovers had he had in that bed?

“Darling,” he said softly, raising her hand to his lips.

She followed the motion upward, met his eyes.

He kissed her wrist, at the pulse point, with such yearning in his eyes that she felt heat flush across her face and neck.

“Don’t let the spirit of the open seas fail you now, captain,” he said, and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze, releasing it. “As far as I’m concerned,” he continued, “you could tickle me with a feather duster all night long and it would be the best night of my life.”

Chloe smirked. “I’m tempted to take you up on that now, you know,” she said, reaching for the top button of his trousers. “Just to see how long you’d hold out.”

“Feather duster’s in the toy drawer,” he said, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Shall I fetch it for you?”

Chloe shook her head, laughing as she pushed the trousers off his slender hips.

He was naked underneath and she raked her eyes over his body, letting him feel her gaze.

Like the rest of him, his cock was pretty. Good size, nice curve. Uncircumcised. He manscaped all over too, so she could see everything in the dim golden light. He looked beautiful, all smooth and lean, from the line of shoulders to hips to the V of his thighs and his long legs.

Never one to shy away from attention, Lucifer cocked his hip to the side, head tilted at an enticing angle. Proud as a peacock, but showing throat too.

Posed like that he looked like a statue come to life. Chloe thought of one in particular, “[ _The Genius of Evil_](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/4b/Lucifer_Liege_Luc_Viatour_new.jpg/250px-Lucifer_Liege_Luc_Viatour_new.jpg).” She had found it back when she was Googling everything she could Lucifer related. Trying to understand.

In it, the Biblical Lucifer was posed with his wings tucked around him. His hand was buried in his hair and he looked pensive. There was a shackle around his ankle, attached to a chain, and a crown in his other hand.

It was the only part of all the mess she’d seen that somehow felt true to the real person she knew. Sad and hurt. Bound by things she didn’t understand.

And beautiful. Almost too beautiful.

Lucifer was born before the stars and he would live to see the universe go cold and dark. She wanted to press herself against him, hold him tight. But she knew she couldn’t really possess him. Not even as much as humans possessed each other.

The thought gave her a moment of pause, a chill. But then the heat in her belly burned brighter still.

He was all that, yes, but he was hers too. For the rest of her life.

She wasn’t going to waste a minute of it.

Chloe stepped forward, put her arms around his trim little waist and pulled him to her body. Rubbed her lacy panties against the heat of his erection. It was a little rough of her, doing that. His reaction was perfect: he gave a helpless thrust against her and moaned happily, nuzzling her hair. His arms came up around her, returning the embrace.

She wanted to tell him how beautiful he was to her. Not just like this, but in every form. She could still remember chastely pressing her lips to his, in that other face, how warm and leathery the feel was. How he’d gasped, dark red retreating, replaced by smooth human skin.

He’d thought she was proving a point. Making a sacrifice to show him that she was truly sorry for the way she’d behaved in those terrible months. She didn’t know how to tell him that, standing here now, she felt slick at the thought that he was both this man and the other too, that he was all of those things. And hers.

One day she’d make him understand.

Here and now, though, she just really wanted to get laid. She pushed her panties down and sat on the bed, scooting back toward the headboard and spreading her legs. “C’mere,” she said, opening her arms to him.

He crawled over to her with effortless grace and settled between her thighs, smiling. “My, we are kicking it old school, aren’t we?” he asked, fondly.

Chloe rolled her eyes, lifting her hips. “Get inside me, before I change my mind.”

“Ma’am,” he said, “yes, ma’am.” He reached down  to make sure she was ready—raised his eyebrows in pleasure at how wet she was already--and then pushed in, nice and firm.

Chloe sighed around the stretch, her eyes fluttering shut. When he started to move, she gripped his shoulder. “Not yet,” she said. “I just want to feel you.”

He stilled instantly, all that beautiful power locked down at her command. She experimented, flexing her hips, adjusting him inside her. He felt so good. Warm and full inside her, as close as she could hold him.

She opened her eyes, cupped his cheeks. “I didn’t want you here until I loved you, you know?”

“I know. You found me, what was it?” he panted a breath, holding still for her. It made her skin flush hot, the way he did as told. “’Repulsive on, like, a chemical level,’” he said, in a terrible imitation of her American accent, and laughed.

Chloe kissed his lips. “Yeah,” she said. “But then I loved you and it was all I wanted.” It was a lot to confess, but he’d been stripped so naked before her, she wanted to return the favor. Anyway, she was supposed to be showing him how to make love, wasn’t she?

He swallowed hard, his muscles tight as corded steel, shivering with tension. She could feel it in her body too, through all the places they met. The heat of him inside her, on top of her.  

“You’re – _killing_ me here, I hope you know,” he said, “but,” he panted a breath, nuzzled his forehead against hers, “I never want to be anywhere else. I’d stay like this forever if you asked.”

The thought of that made a whimper rise to her lips, and her muscles tighten around him. Chloe explored the line of his neck, found her hand coming to lightly grip his throat. It was like hitting a live wire: he shuddered and moaned. Pushed his throat against her hand, eagerly.

A feverish thrill went across her whole body and she pushed it further, experimenting. Tensing her hold so it was firm. Possessive. His eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted around a gasp, a look of rapture on his face.

It was too much. She slid her hands down to squeeze his taut little ass and said: “Move. Now.”

“Yes, darling,” he gasped out, and set to work. He watched her closely, tracking her reactions, as they shifted together until his thrusts were hitting her sweet spot, following her increasingly incoherent commands of _more_ and _harder_.

Once they found a rhythm, his clever fingers came down to rub her clit. She gripped him harder, digging her fingers in, pulling him tight to her with her heels around his waist, fucking him back, hot and wanton and lost to the movement until her insides clenched around him and she cried out, riding the wave of pleasure, exactly where she wanted to be. A few minutes later he shuddered, bucking against her, and she held him close, overwhelmed with tenderness, petting his hair, kissing his face.

They stayed like that, pressed together in the warmth of each other and the softness of his Egyptian cotton sheets, breathing. There was something as sacred as anything she had ever known between them.  

He kissed her throat and whispered her name like it was a prayer and then she knew that he felt it too. Tears came to her eyes, happy ones, and she smoothed her hand from the nape of his neck down his lean flank.

“Now that my cherry is well and truly popped,” he said, his lips forming the hard sounds in the final word lewdly, “would you be willing to take advisement from your loyal first mate, oh captain of my heart?”

She finally understood something of what he’d meant, all those times he said he liked to “play.” She thought it was all whips and chains and… other things she knew nothing about. But maybe he also meant this? Just… play and fun. Like playing pretend, but with sex.

It wasn’t weird, like she’d thought it would be. She really liked it, actually.

“I run a tight ship,” she said, trying to enter into the spirit of it with him, “but, uh—” how did people talk in old movies? She searched her mind, grasped hold of the first thing she could think of, “I’m always willing to heed your good counsel.”

Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up and he gave her an appreciative grin. “Well, captain,” he said, “I’d like it a great deal if you rode my face now that you’re all…” he moved against her, where she was still slick and his cock had gone soft, “wet and messy and gorgeous.”

Chloe took a sharp breath. He wanted her, wet with come from both of them now, on his face… It felt almost too lewd, too naked. She shifted under him, tensing, uncertain.

“Please,” he said, “let me show you?”

“All right,” she said.

He made it feel so natural, shifting them so he was on the bottom and her legs were spread over his face. His stubble had a nice texture to it, just rough enough. He started kissing and licking her and she felt like there was a balloon inside her, too big to be contained, too tight. Her breath hitched and she squirmed, self-conscious. His tongue gave a deep stroke and she felt her cunt tighten, despite her discomfort. She felt so exposed, naked on top of him like this…

Then his hand came up and she pulled it to her chest, between her breasts. It anchored her and she felt the tension ease, started to move with him. To fuck his beautiful, perfect face with her lewd, wet cunt. Which apparently he really wanted. Wasn’t that crazy? And wonderful too.

As she held his hand close to her breast she started to take pride in the act. In the visceral thrill of animal possession: rubbing her scent all over him. Their mingled scents. Their lovemaking. Claiming him.

She experimented, rocking her hips, thinking mine. Mine. He’s _mine_. Instinctively, her other hand came down, gripped his hair. It wasn’t as good as her fantasy of horns, but it was close enough. His fingers tightened against her hand and his tongue licked, varying swirls with deep strokes, and she let go. Rode him, forgetting shame and everything else, until her orgasm came, more spread out than the tight feel of coming around his cock, whole and true.

She collapsed down beside him, panting, and kissed his filthy, beautiful, wet lips. He tasted salty, like both of them, and she felt like she was getting away with something. “You’re amazing,” she said, heart in her throat, “you’re perfect.” She knew that she was supposed to be the “miracle” here—whatever that meant— but she thought the real miracle was getting to have him in her life. When she thought of all the endless years, the chasm of timelessness, and the pain he’d come through to get to her, she wanted to cry in gratitude that she could know him at all. Be loved by him.

He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s an honor to serve under you, captain,” he said, sounding absurdly serious, a suppressed smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Chloe laughed so hard her body shook, pressing her own smile into his shoulder.


End file.
